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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494599">Blood on Golden Feathers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/notyouranswer'>notyouranswer (gorgeouschaos)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blood on Golden Feathers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sandman Slim - Richard Kadrey, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crossover, For the maximum of five people who will appreciate this, Gen, Grey Wardens, Soulgaze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:54:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/notyouranswer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even knowing what he did-- blowing up half of LA, killing at least three other wizards-- it hadn’t hit me how dangerous this warlock was until I saw that they’d pulled in the Blackstaff himself to keep him contained.<br/>The outcome of this trial is a foregone one. We all know it. Naturally, I have to open my mouth and ask, “So why’d he do it?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blood on Golden Feathers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blood on Golden Feathers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This idea came to me after two nights of little sleep. Hopefully someone out there enjoys it. There might be more depending on how cooperative my brain is.<br/>Thanks for reading, and feedback feeds the muses.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>When they drag the guy in, they have Carlos, three other wardens, and my grandfather do it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I swallow. Even knowing what he did-- blowing up half of LA, killing at least three other wizards-- it hadn’t hit me how dangerous this warlock was until I saw that they’d pulled in the Blackstaff himself to keep him contained. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He’s thrown onto his knees by two of the wardens, who I don’t know. The cuffs they somehow got onto the warlock’s wrist glow briefly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That shouldn’t be possible. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The outcome of this trial is a foregone one. We all know it. Naturally, I have to open my mouth and ask, “So why’d he do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Carlos shoots me a look. I ignore it. He should know by now that I’ve got hang-ups about executing people. Sue me. I’ve been where this warlock is now, on my knees with a hood over my head while people prepared to chop my head off. It’s not fun.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“They sent him to Hell,” my grandfather says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I blink. “Figuratively, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, like, they sent him to actual Hell,” Carlos tells me. “Hellions, Lucifer, blood and sand, the whole nine yards.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He doesn’t appear to be joking.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“There’s more sand than you’d expect,” the warlock says. It earns him a kick to the ribs from one of the wardens, but he keeps talking. Relatable. “And that’s not why I did it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I address him directly. “Why, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“They killed Alice.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Who’s Alice?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She was his girlfriend, before he got sent down,” Ebenezar says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The way he says </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes something in my stomach roll. I ask, “How long was he down there?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The warlock remains silent. His chest rises and falls in an eerily even rhythm. If not for the way he’s pulling at the cuffs, I’d think he was calm.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Eleven years, near as we can tell,” my grandfather says. “He was nineteen.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And just like that, I know I’m about to do something stupid. Guess I’m still a soft touch. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Let me soulgaze him.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Carlos sighs in a way that clearly conveys </span>
  <em>
    <span>here we go again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My grandfather glares and says, “Hoss--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He was a kid,” I interrupt. “I’m not saying he’s not guilty, I just want to see if…” I trail off. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I know I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I know this guy isn’t a kid anymore. I know he’s not me. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That doesn’t mean I can let him die without making sure he’s guilty as hell.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ebenezar searches my face. I don’t know what he finds, but he nods and yanks the hood off the warlock’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The guy looks like a caricature of a warlock. Covered in scars, pale as hell, grey, flat, dead eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I look away before the soulgaze can start. I need to talk to him first. I kneel, ignoring Ebenezar’s warning hiss.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I won’t do this if you don’t want me to,” I tell him, because my head isn’t pretty and it sounds like this guy’s been screwed over enough.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He laughs. It’s short and bitter. “Nothing that hasn’t been done before. Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I lift my eyes back to his and let the soulgaze take over. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The inside of the warlock’s head isn’t pretty either. I find myself pressed against the wall of a massive arena, blood-red sand all around me, the chanting of the crowds in the stands an overwhelming press of noise. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The warlock is standing in front of me, facing a wall of monsters. Some I recognize. Most I don’t. He’s holding a flaming sword in one hand, some sort of black metal whip in the other. He also has wings: brilliant, golden wings. That startles me enough that I don’t notice the woman sitting beside me until she says, “Pretty, aren’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I jolt. “Hell’s bells.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound. I can see why someone would kill for her. “Sorry. We don’t have much time, and he’s busy. I’m Alice. And you can’t let him die.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t know if I have a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>One of the monsters leaps-- not at the warlock, but at us. The warlock whirls and cuts it in half with his sword midair before turning back to his vigil.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“There’s always a choice,” Alice says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And he made enough of the wrong kind that there’s nothing I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Alice’s face hardens. “Did you make the wrong choice when you killed Justin Dumorne?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s different,” I say, but I don’t know if it is anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She shrugs. Another monster begins to circle; the warlock shifts to keep himself between Alice and I. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He stayed in Hell to protect me,” Alice says, and I close my eyes. I don’t want to hear this. “He could have left years ago. They turned him into a monster, and he let them for my sake. You can’t let them kill him,” she repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The warlock buries his sword in the heart of a lion-porcupine looking thing as it steps towards us. His wings flare, shielding us from a hail of quills. Blood trickles down golden feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He’s protecting me too, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Alice just smiles. “Don’t let him die, Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The soulgaze ends. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The warlock meets my eyes without any change in expression. “Satisfied, Warden?” He spits out the title with intent to kill. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah,” I croak. I clear my throat and stand. “I will vouch for this man.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>In the ensuing uproar, I could almost swear I can hear Alice’s laughter again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>It takes every favor I have, and Ebenezar is never going to let me live it down, but I manage to get the warlock off with the Doom of Damocles. It’s not ideal, but they’re hardly going to let him wander around with supervision. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He doesn’t talk, doesn’t even try to escape. He just comes back to my apartment. There’s not even a comment about the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let him through the wards ahead of me, knowing as I do so that this is a terrible idea for so many reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, I forgot to add “Thomas is home” to that list of reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas slams the warlock against the wall. “You’re in the wrong apartment, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warlock shoves my brother away hard enough that Thomas stumbles, which shouldn’t be possible. No human should be able to do that without access to their magic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s with me, Thomas,” I tell my brother. “I kinda rescued him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas glares. “What have you done now? Even I know about this guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not actually sure how to answer. “I soulgazed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brother throws his hands up. “Oh, well then. That makes everything okay. Do you even know his name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name,” the warlock says, “is Stark. And I’ve killed your kind before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas bares his canines. “Right back at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doubtful,” Stark says. He looks to me. “You should have let them kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alice asked me not to,” I tell him. He doesn’t do anything so overt as flinch, but the shift in energy in the room tells me that surprised him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Stark asks. “Alice is dead. You have nothing over me. You try to make me kill, I rip your spine out. You try and fucking touch me, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I interrupt him, waving my arms. “Nothing like that, no, Christ no.” I glance at Thomas. The set of his shoulders tells me he’s angry, but it’s not at Stark. “I just…” I sigh. “I killed my master too, once. I was younger than you, but someone gave me a chance then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should’ve let them kill me,” Stark repeats, but it’s lost some of its conviction. I’d almost say he’s lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to need a bigger apartment, if he stays,” Thomas comments. “He’s a little too tall for the couch.” I can hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, you idiot </span>
  </em>
  <span>beneath the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” I summon my most charming smile. “You renting?”</span>
</p>
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